


you're italic, i'm in bold

by jomlette



Series: italic/bold [1]
Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Asexual Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Awkward Dates, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends, Flirting, For the most part, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Sexual Tension, Sharing a Bed, Touch-Starved, al is ace but vox sure as hell isn't, i WILL write romantic intimacy and that is a threat, listen, the rest of the gang will be hanging around
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:48:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22111324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jomlette/pseuds/jomlette
Summary: To boost exposure, Charlie convinces Vox to produce a documentary of the hotel's rehabilitation program. He moves into the hotel for the duration of production. Unfortunately for Alastor, Charlie never listened to a certain 70s song by The Buggles."I look forward to working with you," Vox says with a wink, "let's be sure to play nice, shall we?""Choke on a wire and die," Alastor replies cheerfully.
Relationships: Alastor & Charlie Magne, Alastor/Vox (Hazbin Hotel)
Series: italic/bold [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1629007
Comments: 140
Kudos: 560





	1. play nice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> vox: appears for literally five (5) seconds, no dialogue whatsoever  
> me, immediately: aha! Bastard Man
> 
> you would not believe the immense restraint i had to exert to not title this fic "video killed the radio star".

Entering a partnership with Charlie brought with it some guidelines he needed to follow. They were expected, of course. No killing, no cannibalizing hotel patrons, no participating in activities that could tarnish the hotel reputation. He didn't follow them, of course. He killed as he pleased, ate demons who quit rehabilitation, and did _many_ things Charlie would disapprove of, but unlike a certain spider, he made sure to be discreet about it.

Right now though, he's about one laugh track away from starting a massacre in the lobby, Charlie's guidelines be damned.

"Charlie," she's either ignoring his blatant distaste, or she's more oblivious than he thought, with that smile she beams at him, "May I ask why _he_ is in our lobby?"

That 'he' twists his screen head around at the sound of Alastor's voice, and to his displeasure decides to approach.

Vox, overlord of the visual entertainment industry, and the utter bane of his afterlife. He cocks his hip to the side, looking slightly down at him. Never before has Alastor been self conscious about his height (which is perfectly average, thank you), and he still isn't. He'd simply prefer to be at the same eye level as Vox. 

Actually, on second thought, he'd prefer Vox not look at him at all.

"Al, I'm sure you two have met before, but this is Mister Vox!" Charlie gestures, quite unnecessarily.

"'Mister Vox', she says. What a polite girl!" Vox takes Charlie's hand and bows, in lieu of a kiss. "Just Vox will work fine, sweetheart."

Alastor stares pointedly at where he's touching Charlie, and quickly comes to the conclusion that the other demon shouldn't be touching his things. He grabs Charlie's unoccupied hand and pulls her back with a twirl. Vox chuckles darkly at the display of possessiveness.

Unbothered, Charlie continues. "Vox agreed to make a documentary about us and the hotel, isn't that cool? That'll be sure to bring in more demons!"

"Yes, what a delight," Alastor echoes, no longer listening to her explanation.

Tearing him apart in the lobby would stain the carpet, and Niffty's swamped with enough work as it is. Briefly, he entertains the idea of pouring cheap whiskey over the demon's oversized television of a head, wondering if he'd short circuit like the real thing. That would upset Husk a fair deal, however, and dealing with a Husk that's grumpier than usual isn't worth the effort. Perhaps Vaggie could agree with him for once and toss the overlord out of hotel property. Yes, that should do nicely.

"I figured since most of the footage is going to be taken inside the hotel anyways, Vox is going to be staying with us while he films," Charlie says.

"Yes yes, that's--"

Wait.

A record scratch punctuates his shock, audible judging by Vox's smirk. Eyes not leaving his gaze, Alastor pushes his smile wider.

"How convenient!" He grits his teeth, "A splendid idea, my dear."

"Very splendid indeed." Vox agrees, voice sickly sweet. He's never been fond of sweets.

"Great!" Oh, to be blissfully ignorant. He almost wishes he wasn't the smartest demon in the room. "You must be really tired from travelling here. Al, could you show him to his room?" She hands him the room keys before he can reply. "Room 667. It's right beside yours."

Of course.

As subtle as he can, Alastor tries to communicate through his smile that he would very much rather be doing anything else. It's worked before when Angel pushes his tolerance to its limit, Charlie swiftly giving him an out. Luck isn't on his side this time, it seems, as a patron near the bar starts heckling Husk for more vodka and she quickly leaves to diffuse the situation. That leaves him standing alone beside one TV overlord, who is almost certainly leaning over him on purpose.

"Lead the way, _Al_ ," the way Vox drawls Charlie's nickname for him sends an unpleasant chill down his spine, and he fights the urge to shiver as he marches past the demon without so much as a glance.

True to its number, room 667 is on the sixth floor of the building. It usually takes forty one seconds for the elevator to take them from the main floor to the sixth, yet it feels like an eternity to Alastor currently. He prepared himself for more jeering from Vox, not silence. That's fine by him. The less Vox speaks, the better. 

However, the peace doesn't quell his growing irritation. So he can't be blamed when he summons his tentacles, grabs Vox by the arms and legs, and pins him to the side of the elevator cart. The brief flash of fear in his eyes brings him immense satisfaction.

"You're lucky I'm feeling generous today, my good fellow! You have three seconds to explain yourself before I banish you to the darkest depths of this landscape." Alastor grins, eyes flashing into dials, distorting the air around them.

"I don't need to explain myself to the likes of you," Vox spits out initially, but the twinge of pain in his face when Alastor tightens the tentacles' hold makes him add, "Charlie already explained to you why I'm here."

"Why is it that I don't believe you then?" He tilts his head.

"Who knows how that pretty head of yours works?" Vox quips.

Not to be beaten, Alastor makes a show of revealing his claws and tracing them lightly over the other demon's jugular. "I suggest you stop calling me 'pretty' and listen closely. This hotel is currently under my jurisdiction, and I do not appreciate having you on my grounds. Leave now, or I _will_ shatter that glass face of yours and leave Niffty to sweep up the pieces."

While he doesn't expect Vox to be fully compliant to his demands, the abrupt laugh nearly snaps him out of his radio dials. 

"You're not gonna do that," Vox chuckles, like there's an inside joke Alastor isn't privy to.

"And how are you so sure?"

Somehow, the demon grows more amused at his inquiry. "Because dear little Charlie would be so upset if you did, and we both know that's a deal breaker," Alastor opens his mouth to retort but Vox interrupts, "don't even try to deny it. I saw how you wilted when I held her hand."

"I don't like _filth_ getting on my toys, that's all there is to it," he insists. 

"If you say so," Vox whistles out a tune, like he's just out on a stroll and not pinned against the wall with a clawed hand pressing down on his neck. "Regardless, we both know you're not going to risk her ire by killing me, so you can stop the theatrics, Al dearest." Vox's mouth curls into a smirk. "After all, I much prefer to be the one doing the pinning and choking, if you catch my drift."

And with that, the mood is gone for Alastor entirely. He calls off the tentacles and retracts his hand, wiping it on his pant leg.

"Disgusting," he mutters, just as the elevator doors chime open, revealing Niffty on the other side.

"Am I interrupting something?" She squeaks out, sounding oddly embarrassed.

Alastor wonders why she's acting strange, before noticing how close he's standing to Vox, nearly pinning him to the wall in the same way his tentacles were doing only seconds before. He backs away and out of the elevator past Niffty, tossing the room keys back without looking to see if Vox catches them.

"No, nothing at all!" He replies to Niffty.

Vox slowly smooths out the front of his suit, makes an exaggerated effort to remove himself from the wall and out the elevator. Alastor rethinks his choice of sparing him.

Niffty eventually closes the elevator doors and the two are left alone again in the hall. It's vacant apart from Alastor, the few guests of the hotel staying as far as they can from the infamous Radio Demon. Unfortunately, it seems Vox doesn't have the same capacity for rational thought. 

Opening room 667, Vox spares him one more coy glance.

"I look forward to working with you," he says with a wink, "let's be sure to play nice, shall we?"

"Choke on a wire and die," Alastor replies cheerfully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is there anything you guys wanna see happen? i do have solid plot points planned, but this fic mostly boils down to "how far can vox and al push each other's buttons without resorting to murder". so ya know, flexibility lol.
> 
> i'm on tumblr @[jomlette](https://jomlette.tumblr.com/) if that's relevant info to y'all!!


	2. underdressed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was so caught up in the excitement of posting the first chapter a few weeks back that i forgot momentarily that exams existed. i still gotta do more exams but this has been in my drafts 80% done for ages and it was driving me mad haha. 
> 
> also also!! i'm absolutely stunned at the attention this fic got. thank you so much to everyone here, love y'all <3
> 
> expect updates to come faster from now on!!

Luckily, Alastor doesn't sleep as long as he used to back when he was alive, or else the night would have been a pain. It was around midnight when the most infernal noises started escaping from his neighbor's room, through their shared wall. An action film, he guesses, with the gratuitous use of the same gunshot effect over and over again. It didn't even sound like a real gun, for goodness' sake. The obnoxious sounds lasted well through the early morning until sunrise. Alastor wouldn't have been able to fall asleep if he tried.

Bold of Vox to assume he'd let his guard down. Even if he had the ability to drift off with that noise, he would've still remained awake and alert, shadows ready to rip Vox to shreds if he so much as touched Alastor's door.

It's eight thirty in the morning now. He looks at himself in the mirror, adjusts the cuffs on his coat and smooths out the hair lining his ears. In their passive form, his antlers stand short on his head, more out of convenience than anything else. Inconspicuous and out of the way, just how he likes them, same with his small tail underneath his coat. He gives himself the biggest smile he can muster, teeth and all, before strolling out into the hallway. 

He's never fully dressed without a smile, and knowing the company nearby he wouldn't want to be caught in a state of undress. 

Normal mornings, Alastor's usually greeted by the sight of Charlie sipping coffee and Niffty handling breakfast. Stepping into the kitchen he finds only Vaggie, who's placing two slices of bread into the toaster, looking much worse for wear.

"Good morning, darling," he greets, receiving a noncommittal grunt in return, "rough night?"

"Something like that," she mumbles, fumbling with her ribbon which keeps slipping out of her hair. Alastor coaxes her to turn around and he ties her hair into its usual bow. Vaggie doesn't even hesitate to turn her back to him in her fatigued state. He files that tidbit of information away for future use. "Charlie's excited about the documentary. _Very_ excited. One tangent lead to another, and I ended up listening to her talk 'til four in the morning. Don't know how she manages to do that."

Alastor resists the urge to laugh at her face, soft with obvious affection despite the complaint. Oh, how caring made a person weak in all the right places. He couldn't wait for the opportunity to prod at those weaknesses later. For now, he has different priorities. 

"How do you feel about this documentary, then?" Alastor tightens the bow once more before turning her back.

"I think it's a good way to get the hotel some decent exposure for once, but I'm gonna be honest here, I do _not_ trust that flatscreen shitlord." She replies, brows furrowed.

Just the response he's looking for. "Aha, my thoughts exactly--"

"Hey, m'not finished," she interrupts with a finger to his face. Her boldness never fails to catch him off guard. "I still don't trust you either, but you promised to look after this hotel, and Charlie. We need this documentary to be made. You're gonna keep Vox in line, right?"

He swallows the annoyance at not being able to kick Vox out, smile unwavering. Her last question strikes his interest, however. Keeping Vox 'in line'', whatever that may entail, is a much more interesting venture to explore. 

Alastor takes a dramatic bow. "Of course I will! You have this gentleman's promise."

Vaggie snorts, short of a chuckle. "Gentleman, sure." The toast pops up and Alastor nabs a slice for himself before exiting the kitchen. Her curses are like music to his ears.

* * *

  
"The hotel tries to be as adaptable as it can be for our diverse patrons," Charlie explains to the camera, "We hold group therapy sessions throughout the week, hosted by me. Group therapy is where the patrons get together in a circle and are free to talk about their issues to the crowd. There's private sessions via appointment for those who want more privacy, also lead by me. Oh, and we're hoping we could possibly provide couple therapy soon--"

"Cut," Vox says.

The lobby is more or less void of demons, aside from Vox, Charlie and himself. For the past half hour the poor princess has been trying to give her best summary of the hotel facilities, but it seems the jitters have left her unable to do much else aside from ramble.

Even Alastor's patience is starting to thin with each cut. He can't imagine how Vox must be feeling, being a powerhouse in the entertainment industry. It's only a matter of time before he cracks. One claw, taunt or insult at Charlie, and Alastor will have a reason to drop kick the hunk of wires out the doors. 

Vox puts down the camera, approaching Charlie with controlled steps. Alastor straightens his posture ever so slightly from where he's seated at the bar. 

"I'm sorry," she apologizes sincerely, "I'm not sure what's wrong with me today."

"Stage fright gets the best of us, Charlie, don't worry." Vox runs the palm of his hand over her shoulder, visibly soothing some of the tension out. Alastor tightens his grip on his empty glass. "Why don't you try this instead? Instead of over explaining each type of therapy, why don't you give the camera some anecdotes? What are the funniest things that have happened in the public sessions? You don't need to provide specific stories for the private appointments, but you could describe the atmosphere for the audience, and why a patron would prefer private over public. And use more assertive language, dear! None of this 'try, hope and possibly' nonsense!"

His voice is warm, calm, eerily so for Alastor, who knows how volatile the overlord can get. He had to give it to him, the advice he gave was...adequate, and accurate for Charlie. He watches as they try one more take, and she hits all his points flawlessly, more energetic and immersive than her attempts before. Dare he say, entertaining.

"See? Much better," Vox praises her. Charlie positively glows at his compliment. "I'll be spending the rest of the day getting raw footage of the hotel, if that's permissible with you?"

"Of course," she grants, "if you need me for anything else, just holler!" Charlie makes a gracious exit, mumbling to herself about finding Vaggie. 

Alastor makes no move from the bar, taking a second to observe. The camera Vox holds is nothing special, tiny compared to the ones he usually sees him wield. It's especially tiny in the overlord's hands. Everything about him looks enormous in the hotel lobby.

If Alastor isn't careful, those hands could easily wrap themselves around his neck and snuff him out.

"Sleep well?" Vox grins, locking eyes with him from across the room.

"Quite soundly, I'd say," Alastor throws back easily, "as peaceful as a baby."

"I can imagine that, baby," the overlord makes his way towards him. Alastor hides a grimace at his lower tone, making even the most innocent of phrases feel gross by association. "Say, why don't you give me and this camera a little tour of the building?"

"Don't tell me you get lost that easily!" he laughs, leaning back as Vox leans in. "I know this building is large, but I assume an overlord such as yourself has _some_ sense of direction."

"Can't you humor me a little? Sooner or later, you'll be appearing in this production. Can't make a documentary about the Happy Hotel without including the business' most elusive sponsor, after all." Vox raises a digital brow. "What would Charlie say if she heard your refusal?"

Oh. _Oh._ So that's the demon's ploy. 

Alastor cares about no one, always putting himself first in his life and afterlife. Charlie, however much he hates to admit, has become his close second. He'd hate to see a frown replace that smile of hers.

He gently places his glass down, miraculously unharmed from his death grip, and summons his microphone stand. He prods Vox away from with, a firm reminder of his five foot rule. "Very well. Please tell me when you're ready to record. I'm not going to repeat myself."

"This fella hasn't stopped recording," Vox raises it to point at Alastor, "never know when something interesting will happen, after all."

Having Vox freely record inside the hotel is... troubling, even more so after that comment. Nonetheless, Alastor is a man of his word, and shifts his focus into his smile.

"Hello, hello, dear listener! Or rather, should I say watcher? My name is Alastor, and I'll be your guide to the Princess of Hell's latest project, the Hazbin Hotel! Now, if you follow me this way, our tour may begin."

Alastor walks at a leisurely pace down the main hall, offering steady exposition as they go. The words come easily to him, partly from his experience as an entertainer and partly because most of the fun parts of the hotel were his idea. His newest addition, the refurbished ballroom, leaves even Vox looking impressed. Not that he cares about what Vox thinks. 

"It took a lot of elbow grease to make this room glimmer as much as it does, but it was all worth it in the end." Alastor makes another grand sweep with his arm, gesturing to the golden walls." Our patrons have the privilege of attending our monthly galas, and soon enough we'll be opening invitation to the general public to join us--"

"Yawn, boring," Vox sighs, "For a so called host, I can't stand to listen to you drone on about this room, Al."

Alastor's ear twitches. "What ever happened to your professionalism, my fellow? A 'cut' would have sufficed."

"Who's gonna tell the difference? I can edit out this part anyways," he shrugs nonchalantly, "now take us somewhere more interesting. You're gonna put me to sleep at this rate."

If Vox fell asleep on him right now, he'd use the opportunity to rip out his antenna. He surprises himself with his restraint as he looks back to the camera like nothing happened. "Come, now I'll show you my favourite place to relax. Let me tell you now, it'll put a smile even on the most loathsome sinner's face!"

Alastor may have exaggerated his excitement for the screen, but it what he said still held true. Leading Vox around the back, they're greeted by a flourishing garden. A rock path cuts through the greenery, expanding out into more pathways, turning the garden into a pseudo maze of sorts. It's a genuinely gorgeous sight, contrasting the dull red and black of hell with it's bright green. When he's not cooking in the kitchen or having a laugh over the failure of the hotel residents, Alastor can often be found enjoying the atmosphere of the garden. 

Niffty perks up from where she's planting spider lilies. Alastor beckons her over with a nod.

"This garden in particular was a collaborative effort between the princess of hell and this little darling right here," Alastor explains, "Isn't that right, Niffty?"

"Sure was!" Niffty catches on quick, easily addressing the camera. "You couldn't _imagine_ the mess this back place was before. And when Charlie said she wanted to make a garden I nearly cried! Cleaning up dirt with more dirt seemed counterintuitive, but looking at the garden now, I'm happy I listened to her." In her explanation, she gets a bit of mud on the bottom of Alastor's coat, a mess she doesn't miss. "Oh dear, sorry Alastor!" 

"Oh, don't worry about that, dear." Alastor allows her to remove his coat, folding it neatly and running off back inside. "Not only is she responsible for the harden's upkeep, but she also runs the task of keeping the rest of the hotel clean, and that includes our staff." 

He turns around, away from Vox, settling his gaze on the forgotten spider lily on the grass. He leans down to grab it, taking a moment to breathe while doing so. The red is breathtaking. He's always had a soft spot for nature, preferring open forest to industrial city. 

"What a sight," Vox comments, uncharacteristically mellow. 

Alastor hums in agreement. "Impressive work, isn't it?" He paces over to where Niffty had been planting the lilies, kneeling down to finish the job. He hears Vox's steps behind him, and while he's slightly unnerved having the overlord stand above him, he gives nothing away with his posture. Reaching out to the trowel, Alastor ends up leaning forward to plant the flowers, unwilling to get his pants dirty in the mud. 

"It may be insignificant in regards to our patrons' recoveries, but still, it's a nice place to have." He smiles a little whimsically. "It's not every day in hell you get to see so much natural plant life." 

"It's the rarest sights that are the most intriguing to the eye."

"Well put, my foe." Patting the soil one more time, Alastor gets back up onto his feet. "Let's not dally anymore here, I wouldn't want our dear cameraman to doze off."

"Leaving so soon? And here I was enjoying the view," he hears Vox chuckle behind him.

"My my, I never knew you were such a fan of botany!" Alastor wouldn't be _opposed_ to the idea of spending more time in the garden, even with the presence of the TV overlord. Hell, if Vox refrained from speaking he might even enjoy himself. He turns his head back, "In that case, why don't we--"

Alastor's words die off when he sees the camera.

The camera's still recording, that much he's sure of, but its angle and elevation are off. Vox points it lower, despite Alastor standing now. He knows _exactly_ where it's pointing, dreading to look down. 

Ah, right.

Niffty took his coat. The coat that hid his tail, which is now in full view. In Vox's full view. Vox, who's eyes don't leave his tail for even a second.

"Don't give much of a shit for flowers as much as you do, but I do appreciate a pretty picture when I see one," Vox gleams, glee dripping from his voice. 

Alastor is going to make sure he treads mud all over the bloody hotel.

His tail involuntarily stiffens, causing Vox to laugh. Jumping desperately to cover it would be more humiliating than anything else, so he settles on letting his tail relax, and slowly turns back to the camera. His smile curves dangerously.

"You will delete that footage." 

"Nope, don't think I will."

_"Vox."_

"That's the first time I've heard you say my name in ages, baby." With a simple flick, the camera is gone, out of Alastor's reach. "Don't worry, I won't put it into the documentary. Wouldn't want to spread something so precious, right? The infamous Radio Demon, agent of chaos, with a cute little tail!" Suddenly Vox is in his space, hands lingering dangerously close. "Tell me, does it wag when you're happy?" 

Overwhelmed, Alastor forces himself to keep his ground, unflinching even with Vox's screen inches from his face. His voice crackles with radio static. "The next question you ask me will be the last of your afterlife if you don't walk away this instant."

Vox heeds his warning, but Alastor still feels like he's lost. The overlord cackles, walking back to the hotel.

"I don't need you to answer it anyway. I already got my answer. Never saw you as a gardener, but whatever makes you happy, Al!"

Alastor doesn't move from his spot, but does reach a hand back to his tail. He's discomfited by the contact. Stupid demon biology. Why did he have to manifest in hell as a prey animal of all things? It's making him act around Vox in ways he never would with any other opponent. That has to be the reason he's leaving himself vulnerable. 

Vaggie's words come back into mind. _Keep Vox in line_. As long as Vox behaves himself in the eyes of the princess, he'll be free to stay in the hotel, and free to antagonize Alastor as he wishes. If he can get him to slip up even once, he can shove the overlord into a pocket dimension without remorse.

All he needs to do is make Vox snap. That should be simple enough.

Alastor's grin becomes less forced, and more devious than before.

This is a game he'll surely win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> niffty is the perfect plot device


	3. learn the ropes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is half of what was originally going to be one chapter. so uhhh enjoy 2.2k of alastor getting Pushed To The Edge lol
> 
> also Angel Dust unintentionally gives terrible advice (for the consequences will be seen very soon)

Alastor spends the next hour strolling around the garden, letting himself recover from the humiliation. His jitters die down, but without his coat he's unwilling to go waltzing into the hotel, lest Vox corner him again. He wraps himself in the shadows and travels directly to the safety of his bedroom, throwing his closet open to find a spare. The wall protests the forcefulness of the closet door slamming into it. Alastor uses his magic to fix the dent in apology.

The wall which he and Vox share. Hm. 

A surveillance microphone conjures at his command, the little thing taking up the size of his palm. It'll broadcast to him and only him. Vox may have the ability to trace any and all digital technology in hell, but he won’t be able to trace a tiny radio concealed with Alastor’s magic. He prides himself with his proficiency in the art. A lowlife like the TV overlord can’t beat him in his own domain. 

Alastor sends it into the shadows, feeling it phase through the wall into Vox's room, nestling itself in the very corner. To test, he dials the hotel provided telephone in the room, and lets out a satisfied chuckle when he hears the distinct ring. Perfect.

He has no solid plan with the microphone, but that inch of power the surveillance gives him over Vox is gratifying nonetheless. 

The day is still very early, barely passed noon, and there's still plenty to do. He's still the sponsor and business partner of the hotel, after all, and he won't let the piece of rotten metal loitering around stop him from performing his duties. Charlie would be concerned, and her snooping would get in the way of the game. He summons more shadows, sending them out with a simple command.

“Find Vox,” he wills. Within a matter of seconds, he sees through their eyes, finding himself back inside the ballroom. The man is standing in the middle of the dancefloor, catching the glimmer of the chandelier on his camera. Hah, the room did impress him!

Within a matter of seconds, he materializes an inch away from Vox, startling the demon.

"Fuckin' Christ!" He staggers back, fumbling the camera.

"I'm afraid he can't hear you from down here," Alastor tuts. He makes a point of looking around, as if he didn't realize where he was until just now. "Goodness me! The ballroom? What are we doing back here? If I remember correctly, you said this place was, and I quote--" he emits a tuning sound, before Vox's own voice comes through his teeth, " _Yawn, boring. I can't listen to you drone on about this room, Al._ "

It takes only a second for the TV demon to regain his composure, digital brow raised in fascination. Not at all the reaction he hoped for.

"I implied _you_ were boring, not this ballroom," he says, "first rule in documentation: don't misconstrue your sources."

Vox circles around him, Alastor craning his head to keep eye contact. He moves the rest of his body to face Vox when he sees his eyes trail downwards to his backside. Those pestering feelings weigh heavy in his gut, telling him to freeze under the demon's gaze.

"Shy?" he teases.

"An entertainer is never shy," Alastor retorts. His limbs feel stiff as he forces himself to move, steps slightly clumsy like a newborn fawn, "now if you excuse me, some of us have actual work to do."

As he leaves, he doesn't need to look back to know where Vox's sight lands.

* * *

Taxes. It's beyond him why taxes exist in hell, the epicenter of chaos and anarchy. It'd be child's play to hunt down the tax collector, laughably easy, but Charlie insists on running the hotel fairly. Never mind that any monetary profit they make directly feeds back to Lucifer regardless. 

The work is simple, if not monotonous. He chose to work in the common room, amused by the wide berth the other demons give him, even as he occupies the table closest to the popular dart board. 

But that amusement dies down with every new paper he starts. Alastor is bored, and when he's bored, what else is he to do but get some entertainment?

Husk, his preferred company, is out somewhere for the day. Charlie is currently out on errands with Vaggie, and he doesn't know where Angel is, but he wouldn't seek him out anyways. So, Vox it is. 

Alastor tunes into his little spy radio. At first there's only white noise, but he hears bed covers get ruffled and a closet door creak open. Vox grumbles about his back, and there's more fabric rustling. With a bemused smile, he encaptures the overlord in his shadows and transports him directly into the common room.

"Jesus!" Vox, shirt half unbuttoned and bowtie dangling from his neck, growls at the sudden change, wildly looking around. 

"Reception's a tad weak, he can't answer your call," he quips, undeterred by Vox's scowl. "Look who's underdressed now! Maybe if you smile it'll make up for your sloppy outfit."

"I was just about to take a nap," Vox grumbles, "Can't a man rest for an hour? After all my hard work for this hotel, this is the treatment I get."

"I fail to see how waving that handheld camera around qualifies as hard work. Now this," he gestures to the piles of documents on his table, "this is hard work."

He grows quiet as Vox leans into his space, but this time the overlord isn't domineering about it. Instead, his attention is on the paper Alastor is signing. In his peripherals, he sees Vox's expression slowly change to one of confusion.

"Taxes?"

"Yes, taxes."

Another lapse of silence. 

"Charlie?"

"Charlie."

They look at each other. He chuckles, Vox wheezing and hunching over the table. They soon grow into full laughter, and he can't find it in himself to care about the other demons in the room eyeing them curiously. 

"That girl," Vox shakes his head bemusedly, recovering his breath, "she's paying taxes. Actual taxes. In _hell_."

"My thoughts exactly! Never a dull day with her quirks." A cheery jingle plays out of him, something he's never done around him before. If Vox noticed it, he doesn't comment.

Strange, his presence is almost pleasant. Almost. His initial misery may have factored into Alastor's current amusement, but it's surprising anyhow. With Vox leaning on the table while he plows through the files, he could be inspired to finish quicker. 

But of course, the fragile bubble of peace is broken when Vox swipes the paper out of his hands. Alastor gives him the stink eye.

"If you're trying to find dirt on the hotel, you'll find that you're fresh out of luck," Alastor makes no move to grab the paper, staying seated. "Now behave like a gentleman and kindly return that."

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"I said, no." Vox straightens up, blinking innocently in his direction. "If you want them back, come and get 'em."

Alastor narrows his eyes, and makes a quick swipe at the paper, but Vox's arm retreats fast enough to evade. He tries again, this time leaning further, but misses. Relenting, he moves out of his seat.

"There, I'm standing. Satisfied?" Vox doesn't comment, but holds the paper out in front of himself. When he tries to snatch it back, the taller demon raises his arm up above him. Alastor stretches up, but is just a few inches too short.

"Jump," Vox mocks. 

He's more than aware of the other demons in the room watching their scene, likely wondering if it will escalate. Some already left, and others are inching closer to the exit. They have nothing to fear. Alastor's pride won't let him summon his tentacles for such a small slight.

Attempting to stretch up a few more times, he quickly comes to the conclusion that his arm span is simply too short to compare to Vox's. Why not use that to his advantage? He jabs his hand just under Vox's ribcage, making him crumple over. He makes a grab for the paper.

Vox recovers and leans back and away, Alastor following his movements swiftly. It's like a dance, almost, in how they move in conjunction. 

Further and further, he forces him back more, until he hears the telltale crack of his back. 

"Oh fuck--!" Vox loses his footing in his pain, Alastor shoving him to ensure his fall. They both fall to the ground, but now the wrinkled paper is back in his arms.

"First rule of toying with me: don't start what you can't finish," Alastor parrots, waving the paper mockingly in his face. 

He receives no reply, other than a hitch in Vox's breath. Examining his foe closer, he notices the glowing blue tint around his face, more vibrant than his usual hue. The look of mild shock composes itself into controlled amusement, though the blue remains. 

Something lands on his thigh. He looks down at the offensive contact, which makes him realize how he's straddling Vox's waist, pinning him on the ground with his weight. Propping himself up with one arm, his hand squeezes Alastor's thigh before travelling up to his waist.

Oh.

"If you're willing to start _this_ , I'll definitely finish it," he purrs.

Oh. Oh no.

Alastor all but jumps out of his lap, snapping his fingers and letting the shadows consume Vox. He breaks his neck and his eyes turn into dials as he addresses the few demons left in the common room.

"You saw nothing," his static filled voice warns. 

They tremble and nod, which is enough for him. He slumps back in his chair, pinching his brow. Tuning into his radio briefly, he hears Vox's unrestrained laughter, but it's washed out by the sound of his own quickened heartbeat.

* * *

It's petty, but the next time they meet face to face, a little while later in the afternoon, Alastor nabs the drink out of his hand and chugs it all in one go. It's non alcoholic, as is the regulation until 8pm, and strangely not sweet, despite the fruit he can taste. He hands the glass back to him, waiting to grin at his explosive anger. 

The last remains of his soul leaves when he realizes Vox is physically incapable of drinking.

"Couldn't have waited a second? I made this drink just for you," Vox says with a knowing grin. 

It takes everything in him not to vomit the drink back out.

* * *

Angel Dust, of all people, is the one to catch him moping on the bench in the garden.

Actually no. He's not moping. He's quietly plotting Vox's disappearance, debating on whether a rusty knife or taser would work better as torture. He doesn't _mope_.

"You're moping," Angel comments. 

"I have absolutely no clue what you mean," Alastor replies. 

Angel is dressed more casually, and the only reason he notices is because the spider's unusually clothed legs come into his view. He summons his microphone and pushes him back.

"Five foot rule," he warns.

Raising his arms, Angel lets himself be poked away to the edge of the bench. "Funny, that rule seems to disappear around Vox."

The static pitches, his grin becoming forced. "Quite. How are you faring, then? He's an associate of Valentino's, as you know." He couldn't care less how Angel feels, he'd just rather not discuss his growing vulnerability, if it could even be called such. 

"Don't matter much to me, the hotel's neutral ground. Besides, Vox ain't that scary." he says conversationally. After a beat, he continues , "That guy's a needy son of a bitch in bed."

Alastor chokes, but hides it with a cough. 

"You..and Vox..?"

"Did the tango? Got down n' dirty? Fucked?" Angel chuckles as he scrunches his nose in disgust. "Hell yeah we did. Got with him not long after I signed a contract with Val. Ya wouldn't believe the size of his--"

"That's enough, thank you," Alastor covers Angel's mouth with the end of his microphone. 

Angel as of recently has become something much different than the lewd persona he first met a few months ago. Where he once fussed over his makeup and outfits in his presence, he now lounges around in sweatpants makeup free, letting his guard down around Alastor.

The spider isn't stupid, as much as he presents himself as such. He can't fathom why he'd be showing the infamous Radio Demon his weak spots, but it's all the more fun for Alastor in the end. Unfortunately, he can't take advantage of Angel's growing weakness when he's dealing with his own. 

Vox is seeping away his entertainment just by _existing_ in the hotel.

"Sheesh, that's the smallest smile I've ever seen on ya," Angel says. "Vox really gettin' under your skin?"

"He's not getting under anything," Alastor pushes his smile back to regular size. 

He rolls his eyes. "If you want him to leave you alone, all you gotta do is ignore him," Angel snickers, "he's a bigger attention whore than I am! I leave for one second after we do the do, and he gets all whiny! It's almost cute."

Vox and cute don't register in his mind, but he does absorb the useful info Angel gives. He should've been able to deduce the fact he craves attention hours ago, but admittedly the sack of wires has gotten him...flustered. 

Alastor takes his leave and stands from the bench. 

"Thank you for the advice, my friend!" He waves Angel goodbye, "You've made this game much more interesting."

"Game?" He hears Angel ask. "Dunno what you're talking 'bout, but whatever makes you happy, Smiles."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> al if u hate him so much don't summon him to your location
> 
> up next: someone snaps, someone slaps, and someone seriously needs a nap


	4. tug of war

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the corona virus finally hit my province, so that's gucci gang 
> 
> this is half of what was supposed to be the remaining half of the previous chapter. word counts be wildin with me honestly 
> 
> ALSO IMPORTANT THING: word on the street is that y'all want some smut. part of the reason this update was delayed was because i spent some time trying to figure out where to squish one in organically. ultimately, i've decided i'm going to post an "outtake" smut scene separately, since the main fic's plot doesn't really vibe with it. 
> 
> SO... that leads to my question to you guys: would you rather i post the smut asap, or post it chronologically with the main fic? the smut would hypothetically take place further into the story, but honestly it's 80% finished in my docs and i could post it next week. posting it chronologically would mean a 1-1.5 month wait. let me know what y'all would prefer!

At five PM sharp, Alastor has the task of checking in with the patrons one on one. One of his favourite jobs to do, really. It's when he has a front row seat to their failures and shortcomings, a show that he'll never tire of.

A familiar voice reaches his ears as he walks down the hall.

"Al, baby," Vox drawls behind him. Alastor resists the urge to turn, continuing his constant pace, "mind giving me another interview? I'm doing a segment on the hotel bedrooms. You'd make a  _ great _ model."

He makes a few marks down on his clipboard and knocks on the closest door. No response.

"Hey? Hello? Did you hear me?" 

"I'm quite busy at the moment," Alastor fetches the master key out of his pocket, forcefully opening the door. "Let me check my schedule and see if I have time to waste. Oh, look at that, I don't! Adieu," he slams the door in Vox's face, quite satisfied with the TV's bewildered look. 

The demon, who'd been napping in his bed previously, clutches the sheets nervously in his presence. Alastor grins menacingly. It's the best entertainment hell has to offer.

After thoroughly interviewing the poor demon, he briefly thinks of shadowing himself directly into the next room, but decides against it. The whole point of his ploy is to ignore Vox, and he can't really "ignore" the overlord if he never bumps into him. 

It's funny how swift their dynamic changes. The poor overlord tries not once, but  _ thrice _ more to garner his attention during his rounds. His voice is like a fork scraping against a plate, but the immediate tantrum when Alastor magicks himself away is worth the wait. 

And so the evening continues without too much incident. Even Vox had to honour his obligations to the documentary, and so after several thwarted attempts at riling Alastor up, he eventually went back to work, silently taking footage in the corner looking all too much like a sulking child. What a delightful sight! 

But alas, he should come to applaud the walking billboard's ability to bounce back.

Come the next morning, he's barely two feet out of his room when his ears twitch at the sound of Charlie's laughter. Her delightful voice is not what bothers him, no. The source of it however, most certainly does.

Down the hall just exiting the elevator is Vox, Charlie, and to Alastor’s surprise, Vaggie. The princess has laughed herself pink, finding great amusement from whatever had come out of the overlord’s mouth. Her girlfriend, understandably, is less thrilled to be in his presence. 

“Hey Al,” Charlie greets once she notices him. He’s pleased to have grabbed her attention so effortlessly, even more so to see the TV’s face flash with annoyance. “Vox was just telling us about how he helped one of his actresses come down from a panic attack. Isn’t that sweet? We could teach some of his techniques to our patrons who deal with that sort of thing.”

Vox tugs her closer with an arm wrapped around her shoulder, something that both he and Vaggie don’t miss. While the latter tries subtly tugging her back through their intertwined hands, Alastor knows it’ll take more than that to dislodge the overlord. 

“If you think it’ll help the hotel, then I fully endorse it,” Vox chimes in, demeanour so fake yet only so obvious to Alastor himself.

Thank goodness for Angel’s timing.

Without his prompting, his shadows had scavenged the hotel for chaos of any sort, and reported back to Alastor of Angel’s activities. Smiling gleefully, he smacks Vox’s hand away and pushes the two girls back into the elevator.

“I’m afraid that Angel is trying to pick the lock to Husk’s liquor cabinet,” he explains as he presses the main floor button,” we better scramble down there before he resorts to breaking it!”

“That fucking idiot,” Vaggie grumbles, mashing the close button. He feels Vox try to move around him and into the elevator, and right before its doors close, he hind kicks him back out.

Charlie’s none the wiser, whining about Angel’s broken good streak. 

Alastor can feel Vaggie staring at him, not unkindly, which he declines to dwell on. 

* * *

It gets worse.

Leave it to Vox to somehow find ways to be obnoxious that don't involve direct confrontation. His careless show of possessiveness on the day of the over lord's arrival may be to blame. It seems every time Alastor seeks Charlie out, the overlord is already at her side, gobbling up her attention like a starving hound. Being the endless bundle of optimism that she is, Charlie enables his behavior, encourages it even. 

Well. If Vox insists on tagging along like a yapping mut, then surely Alastor is justified in biting back.

As not to alarm Charlie, he starts small. He wedges himself organically into any and all interactions between the TV and princess, making a point of remaining perched on her side like a hawk. Vox does little more than glare his way each time, a glare he neither acknowledges nor returns, so really his meddling is of no terrible consequence. 

And so, it escalates. 

The next day, Vox practically tries to glue his hand onto Charlie's shoulder, so Alastor starts to give impromptu demonstrations on proper shoulder massages with her as his guinea pig. Vox asks her for more interviews, and whoops--- his camera magically disappears from his hand. It's only when Alastor resorts to teleporting himself and Charlie to the hotel roof to avoid the TV demon that the princess calls him out.

"You didn't have to do that," she pouts. 

"Do what, darling?" Alastor side steps, "I simply wanted to share this delightful view with you! Up this far above, we tower over all the buzz of the city. Not a single screen in sight!"

If she noticed his little slip, she doesn't mention it. To her credit, she does saddle up beside him, silently taking in the sight of the red sky, the companionship leaving Alastor oddly endeared.

* * *

"What the flying fuck went down while I was out?"

"Ah, Husker!" His delight is more genuine than usual. Husk had been gone for the past few days, doing whatever a gambling drunkard does in his spare time, and frankly his absence had been when it started going downhill. "Did you enjoy your little vacation?"

"As much as I could," Husk replies, opening up the bar. The patrons are going to be quite happy about that. "you're not answering my question. Why the fuck did I bump into that television son of a bitch outside? Why's he so peachy with the princess?"

Digging his claws into the fabric of his trousers, he widens his grin. "He's here by her request to make a film about the hotel."

Husk hums affirmatively, but doesn't say much else. However, Alastor's known him long enough now to know when the gears are turning in that head of his, and now is one of those times. He doesn't let his guard down even when Husk pours him a cup of gin. 

"How long has he been 'round?" 

Alastor downs his drink in one go. "Four days, if we count the evening of his arrival."

"Hm." Husk gives him a generous pour. "And you've tried killing him how many times?"

"Oh, where's your faith in me, my old friend?" He laughs, chugs his drink, and laughs again. "Only once!"

"That's a first." Husk opens a bottle of beer for himself. While he drinks, Alastor runs his hand through the course fur of his chin, and the cat demon allows the touch. The quiet rumble of a purr brings a sigh out of him, all the tension of the day seeping out. This is what he's missed, his one partner in crime. Daringly, he touches Husk's ear, earning him a slap on the wrist and a growl.

"Hate it when you do that," Husk grumbles between sips. He sets down the empty bottle on the counter, now eyeing Alastor critically. "Be serious with me here, Al. Why isn't Vox blown to bits and regenerating in a dumpster yet? Last time I checked, you can barely stand breathing the same fucking air as him."

"To be fair, I don't think he breathes," Alastor quips, "but if you  _ must _ know, I've concocted and am currently enacting the perfect plan to make the overgrown switchboard leave the premises, no violence required!"

"Uh huh, because you're obviously a patron of peace and pacifism." 

"Perhaps not, but I can practice patience when the situation calls for it!" Alastor hops to his feet, swinging his microphone playfully. "Now dear, best we go clean ourselves up." He smiles sharply at Husk, giving him one last pat on the head. "Judging by that wonderful smell from the kitchen, I'd say dinner will be ready soon."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what if..... we brought our sexual tension to the found family dinner table....ahaha just kidding...unless? 
> 
> i am now on twitter! come send hate mail @jojomlette


	5. breaking point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember when i said someone snaps? yeah. someone snaps.
> 
> on an unrelated note, 2020 has been one huge fucking vibe check hasn't it
> 
> as much as im upset over my graduation being compromised i know im super lucky for that to be my only concern during this pandemic. please stay safe!!! keep yourself quarantined and away from others if you're able to. i hope everyone can get through this crisis as safe and secure as they can. 
> 
> and now, onto some temper tantrums!

Being blessed--- ha!--- with insurmountable power in hell has its vices. One would think  _ obviously _ it has vices, being hell and all that. The thing is, however, those so called drawbacks often became strengths in Alastor's care. 

A permanent target on his back for powerful overlords? Great, more carnage and chaos for everyone to enjoy. Isolation away from the masses? It's not like he desires closeness anyways, it's completely fine. Frequent headaches during rain storms? Well, that side effect only caused Alastor occasional strife with the rare storm in hell, so as far as inconveniences go he doesn't see the need to list it as an ongoing con. 

The only real weakness Alastor can think of, if you could call it that, are the implications of unleashing those ferocious abilities. 

The snake had taken the brunt of his display, not because of any real threat he posed, but because Alastor had priorities aside from power curbing. Sure, the abyss wasn't necessary to incapacitate the snake, but it  _ was  _ necessary to spook his hotel audience into submission.

But unleashing that power on Vox in their game of pretend? That may as well be admitting defeat.

His silence cuts deeper than his claws ever could, and it shows with the TV overlord's increasingly erratic behaviour.

"Dig in guys!" Niffty says cheerfully as she struggles lifting a pot of beef bourguignon onto the table. It's amusing for the first few seconds, but the delicious smell of the stew has Alastor making use of his magic to assist her. 

Dinner is typically a fun affair, with the hotel staff having their own separate meal time after ensuring the patrons have been served. Save for Angel, who acts less like a patron nowadays. It's one of the few times they're all together in the same room, making it easier for Alastor to embrace the natural chaos their union brings.

"He doesn't even have a fucking mouth to eat with." Husk points out bluntly. 

"Husk, don't be rude!" Charlie scolds. 

"I was under the impression I was invited," Vox pouts deceivingly, "I just wanted to spend some time with everyone here."

"Of  _ course _ you're invited," Charlie does her best to glare back at Husk, who looks at Alastor unimpressed. "Even if you can't eat, you're welcome to stay and hang out!" 

"You're too kind, Princess," he grins, patting her on the shoulder. 

_ Stop acting like a saint. _

"Al?" Husk waves a paw over Alastor's eyes. "You good there?"

"Jolly good," Alastor grits through his teeth.

"Alright," he says slowly, "as I was saying then. When the hell is this 'plan' of yours to get Vox outta here gonna kick in? He's making my fur all staticky."

He hums non committedly, more invested in staring daggers into Vox's turned screen across the table. There's little he can do in terms of fouling the overlord's mood directly, but there is some enjoyment in turning his head away theatrically whenever Vox decides to try and return his stare. 

He does it three or so more times before Husk grabs his shoulder.

"The fuck are you doing?" Husk whisper shouts, somehow unheard by everyone else at the table.

"Exactly what you asked of me, dear friend," Alastor whisper shouts back, pulling him close with his arm, "the perfect plan to incriminate Vox, and I barely need to lift a finger for it to work." 

Within the span of time he took to partake in conversation with Husk, Vox managed to escape his main line of sight. He scans the room as casually as he can, and suppresses a flinch when a chair is dropped to his right and ah,  _ that's  _ where Vox went. 

"And how are you this wonderful evening, bambi?" He rests his elbow on the table, knees bumping into his own.

Alastor chooses this time to dig into his meal.

"Oh Niffty, this is the most delicious thing I've had in ages!" He exclaims, "I must have this recipe by the end of the night."

"I got the recipe from you, silly," Niffty tilts her head, confused.

"You've been ignoring me, darling," Vox growls right into his ear, the sudden closeness making him jolt before he can suppress the reaction. The movement doesn't slip by Vox's notice, the TV chuckling. 

Nobody but Husk beside him has noticed his little situation. If he can help it, it'll stay that way. Vox will  _ not _ have him squealing for help, not when he's close to cracking. 

For now, he continues to eat like nothing is wrong. He sees Husk eye him cautiously before the cat drinks from his cup. He swivels his ear at the sound of Vox's chair scraping the floor, inching closer and closer to him. The urge to toss him away itches under the skin of his palms.

"Charlie truly is a doll, not at all what you'd expect from Lucifer's daughter, eh? She did let  _ you _ in here, after all, and that's saying something."

_ I could say the same for you _ , Alastor thinks, taking a delicate sip of his wine. 

"Still, a doll's no fun to play with when you've got a playmate who refuses to share." 

The static sizzles out of Alastor, mingling uncomfortably with Vox's own static. The thought of Husk's discomfort passes through his mind, and he sneaks a glance over at his companion. Husk's cup is still raised to his face, but the cat's ears are angled toward Alastor. 

"Maybe I should play with something else," Vox says conversationally, "our darling little kitty over there looks like a lot of fun---"

Alastor stabs his fork into the wooden table, narrowly missing Vox's hand. The sound silences any conversation that had been happening, all eyes now on him. 

_ Don't touch my things. _

" _ You _ ," Alastor grins threateningly, eyes meeting the overlord's for the first time that evening, "will not set a single claw on Husker."

"Al?" Charlie's eyes flicker between him and Vox. "What's going on between you two?" 

Of all the times for her to read the room correctly. 

"Nothing at all," Vox answers for the two of them, "We were having good conversation, is all." 

He has the audacity to wrap his arm around Alastor and pull him flush against his side, not unlike how he did with Husk previously. Alastor emits a warning sound, and the overlord adjusts so that his arm is draped over the back of Alastor's chair, trapping him regardless.

As calmly as he can manage, he wipes his mouth with his napkin.

"Charlie, please tell this cretin to retract his hand." 

"Sweetheart, I ain't doing anything wrong."

"You're touching me."

"No I'm not."

"You are."

"Are not!"

"What the fuck," Husk grumbles, taking Alastor's wine and chugging the rest of it down.

"You are playing a dangerous game here, my friend."

"Aww, what's little bambi gonna do? Throw a hissy fit? Last I checked, the only cat in here is Husk."

Charlie, to her credit, begins to look more worried, opening and closing her mouth as if unable to formulate a response. Vaggie is less than impressed, and the way Angel and Niffty stare emotively reminds him of children watching a picture show. Husk hisses in Vox's general direction, eyes engaging in conversation with Alastor. Don't do anything drastic, they scream.

Oh, to think the dinner had started relatively swell. The food had been delicious as well, but even that had been spoiled by the overlord's presence. 

"Relax, baby!" Vox, thankfully, takes his hands away, waving them flippantly. "Here, why don't we open another bottle of wine and--- oh,  _ oops _ ." 

Alastor first registers the growing dampness of his clothes, before realizing Vox has all but  _ dumped _ the whole bottle of wine on him.

Nobody moves. Nobody breathes. Not even Angel dares to comment on the wasted liquor. The only sound is that of a record scratch coming from Alastor. 

He pauses, looks down at his ruined suit. Looks at Vox, who appears much more smug than he should be. 

"I'll be retiring early," he announces casually, as if a majority of the room wasn't preparing themselves for a violent outburst. Pushing his chair away from the table, he stands, attempting to salvage any dignity he has left. 

He only makes it halfway across the room.

"Don't be like that Al," Vox stifles a laugh, "The fabric of your coat's pretty thick, if you take it off you'd be good as new!"

Alastor's eyes darken, unconsciously bringing his hands behind his back. The shadows plead and snarl at him to be released. "No."

"Why not? Do you have something to hide?"

"Vox," he steps away, the taller overlord approaching him with a knowing smirk, "this is ridiculous."

"No no no, c'mon! Show the audience whatcha got under---"

_ Don't touch me. _

_ Don't touch me! _

Vox's screen cracks easily under his punch. The glass cuts into Alastor's knuckles, his blood splattering onto the fallen shards. Despite the loud electric sparks, he can still hear the mix of Husk and Vaggie's cursing from the sidelines. There's such obvious  _ fear _ in Charlie's face, and the pain it gives Alastor is different than that of his wounded hand.

He's too angry to give it more thought than that.

Without any pretense left to uphold, Alastor doesn't hesitate to unleash the shadows onto his enemy, the creatures grappling onto whatever part of Vox's body they can reach.

Vox is quite the resilient fighter, glass face aside. With what glass remnants are left, Alastor sees the bloodthirsty glare flicker in and out of sight, unmistakably out for revenge. The overlord summons his electric cables and wires, visibly sparking with electricity, Alastor's least favourite part of engaging in conflict with him.

They whip and strike at him, like snakes going to bite their prey. He dodges within an inch each time, the shadow creatures keeping on par with their tempo. With each lunge and parry, he gets closer to Vox, until he's within the distance he can claw at him.

Just as he draws blood from the overlord's arm, Vox grabs one of his antlers and throws him across the room.

"Guys, stop!" Charlie shouts desperately. Shaking himself off the ground, he can see Vaggie and Niffty struggling to hold her back. The table's been upturned, now acting as a flimsy barrier between the hotel staff and the battlefield that is the rest of the dining room.

"You're gon-g-gonna pay for that, you-yo-u obsolete bastard," Vox's body shoots out a burst of electricity, vaporizing any remaining shadows left near him. The sparks dance in and out of his skin like waves, collecting into a dense ball in his hand. 

Alastor sighs. Once a showman, always a showman. Making the build up of your attack blatantly obvious almost makes Alastor feel insulted as he reels his shadows back in to act as a protective shield. 

There's commotion from the sidelines, sound that Alastor tunes out.

Suddenly, he sees red. Literally.

The passage of time slows down as his vision is filled with that of a familiar red jacket and blond hair, arms spread wide to take the hit.

" _ Charlie! _ "

He barely manages to kick Charlie out of the attack's trajectory before Alastor's body is overwhelmed with voltage. There is nothing he can do to stop his body from crashing to the ground and thrashing with erratic seizures. 

The worst thing about being caught in one of Vox's attacks is the pain. The pain of the electricity invading every inch of himself, and the pain of being unable to lose consciousness.

Alastor is conscious enough to see Charlie get nicked by one of the electric wires, completely unintentional judging by how Vox's screen flickers to surprise. He's conscious enough to see her  _ grab _ the live wire, with her horns and red sclera finally making an appearance. He's conscious enough to make one last silent command to his shadows, which manifest in Vox's room to trash it beyond repair, a petty choice of retaliation but one of the few things he is capable of doing at the moment.

He's conscious enough to look at Husk, who quickly assesses the damage with a rare look of worry, and drags him out of the dining hall and onto a nearby sofa. 

"Pull yourself together," he growls, gently moving Alastor's paralyzed body to lean against him, "If Vaggie's too busy coddling Charlie after this, I'm gonna kick your fucking ass for this stunt."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> charlie is so tired the poor girl
> 
> also a few more things i want to say: my other hazbin fic, he who wanders is not lost WILL be continuing! just by how the narrative is in that fic, it takes much longer to write chapters for it, but it's coming!! dw 
> 
> and just in case you missed it the first time, there's a smut outtake for these two bastards in the works. let me know if yall would prefer it now or later!!


	6. pillow talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again! i received the news yesterday that i am the valedictorian of my graduating class. not allowed to tell my friends yet, so y'all are the first to know!
> 
> thank you guys so so much for sticking thru this mess of a fic. reading the comments 10000% make my day, and if I havent replied to you it's more than likely due to me being too incoherent to form one. sending love to everyone here!
> 
> heed the asexual alastor tag^^ also further content warnings for this chapter: misunderstandings of the sexual variety and an almost panic attack. nothing too crazy but still there.

Husk relocates him to Charlie's office soon after Alastor is able to walk again, and not wanting to involve himself any further he smartly takes his exit. Something about tending back to the bar, and whatnot, although Alastor could smell the pretense from a mile away.

The door clicks open, Charlie and Vaggie letting themselves in. Her head is bowed in such a way that obscures her face from where Alastor is seated, but Vaggie's softened expression says plenty on its own. Naturally, her face hardens as she turns to Alastor, before leaving the room. He expected as much.

What he didn't expect, however, is for Charlie to march over to him and raise her hand to strike.

Even with his reflexes still dulled by Vox's attack, he catches her fist easily. 

He catches her other hand with as much ease as the first. He lets her shake herself out of his grip, only for her to try hitting him again. 

"You're not going to land a hit like this," he comments.

"I know that!" She attempts one more blow, and upon failing slumps against him. He’s unable to brace her sudden weight, and he stutters a step back. “I know you're strong, so why…” she looks up at him, eyes weary, “...Vox could’ve hurt you, y'know? Like, really really  _ really _ hurt you."

"But he didn't."

"That's not the point! If you'd been one step to the left, or one second closer, who knows what Vox could've done. Did you think I was just gonna stand by and let you put yourself in danger like that?"

In that moment, Alastor takes a sharp breath. He peers down at the princess, whose fist clings stubbornly to his stained jacket, wrinkling it further. Her brow is troubled, furrowed. She's one poorly chosen word away from snapping again. Or crying.

All because Vox decided to push a tad too far. What a lovely mess she makes, he thinks. A lovely, fearful, shaken mess. 

It’s too much to handle. 

A chuckle bubbles out before he can smother it, escalating into a hysterical laugh. He doesn’t bother to contain it at that point, much too amused by the turn of events.

“Oh darling!” He pulls her retracting hand back into his, “You go on and on about by recklessness in the dining room, but what about yours?” Naturally, he twirls her into a simple dance, Charlie moving limply with his motions. “Such an impressive act, but what for? What's the use in trying to shield me when you can barely exchange blows with a news anchor?”

To rub more salt in the metaphorical wound, he cradles her face in his hands, eyes focused above in theatrical wonder. “You believe yourself to be as powerful as me, dear? Is that it? If that’s the case, I may have overestimated your intelligence---”

Something wet travels down his hand. 

Instead of retracting his hand, he finds himself frozen in place, watching the tear flow over the curve of his knuckle, falling to the floor. Followed by another, and another. 

Charlie doesn't bother to wipe her face. She doesn't try to break free from his hold. She bits her lip so hard it nearly bleeds, teetering between anger and sadness, and maybe something else altogether. 

"It's not about power," she says, "it's not about power, Alastor."

Her composure breaks then, the first beginnings of a sob shaking her frame, face collapsing into itself, unable to hold back its despair.

It's a sight Alastor's seen before, many times before. He's seen it on his victims, on newly fallen demons, on pathetic little dealbreakers who thought they could swindle the Radio Demon. Crying is a tired trick, one that he's bored to death of seeing.

So when he feels something break inside himself, he's caught utterly off guard. 

Alastor tries to wipe the tears off her cheeks, and when that doesn't work, he clicks his tongue. Trying to calm her down is like trying to scoop water out of a sinking ship at this point, and he feels rather helpless. He doubts squishing her face against his wine stained coat would help matters at all, so instead he summons up a glass of water, pressing it to her tight fists. 

At her confused look, he says nothing, is able to do nothing but offer a tight lipped smile, coaxing the glass further. Reluctantly, she takes the glass, pausing to drink.

What was it that his mother used to do? So many decades have passed since his death, and a few more since his youth. She'd wipe his tears away, give him a glass of water, and wrap him tightly in a warm, protective embrace. He's fulfilled two of those things and feels conflicted towards the last one. It's not like he hasn't invaded Charlie's space before, but doing it now seemed… unsavory. 

Since when had he cared about becoming unsavory?

Charlie sniffles, eyes still a bit red and puffy. While considerably less upset than a minute ago, her smile is still nowhere to be found, like a puzzle without its final piece. 

Quickly, Alastor thinks of something to say, something to make her happy. 

"I'll.." her eyes perk up, and Alastor pushes out the rest, "I'll get along with Vox."

He did  _ not _ want to say that.

It's too late to take back now, with how Charlie jumps to attention.

"Really? You mean it?"

"I'll try to," he says, like a liar. "Would that be an acceptable apology for the dinnertime show?"

When Charlie smiles, she smiles with her whole body, shoulders bouncing as she gleams. "As close of an apology I'll get from you."

He chuckles, still uncomfortable from her display moments before.

* * *

"What the  _ fuck _ did you do to my room, Bambi?" 

"Hey!" Vaggie jabs Vox's arm with the blunt end of her spear. "Back down. But seriously Alastor, trashing his room? Really?"

Charlie gives him a side eye, and Alastor feels his eye twitch. It's been a long, emotional day, and if it wasn't for his mental exhaustion he'd bop Vox another one right there in the hallway. 

Speaking of the hallway. Evidence of room 667's destruction precedes its door, the shards of which have neatly embedded themselves on the nearby wall. Peering further inside, he sees his shadows have done an exquisite job. Alastor feels no ounce of guilt for that.

Although, a smidge of regret lays on his timing.

"There's plenty of vacant rooms he can rest in for the night," he states.

"But Vox can't  _ possibly _ use those rooms!" Niffty exclaims, materializing out of nowhere. "I haven't cleaned those rooms in a long time--- well actually I  _ did _ , but I didn't give 'em a deep clean, because you said no one would want to share the same floor as you, so I haven't given 'em the same treatment as the patron's bedrooms, and oh Alastor, think of all the dust and grime that must've built up---"

"Then what do you suggest we do for our guest then, dear?" Alastor interrupts, patience near gone. 

Niffty's eye squints in thought. She and Vaggie share a look, and then look at Charlie. In a quick, silent conversation, they turn from Alastor, to Vox, to room 666, and back to Alastor. 

He understands almost immediately.

"Absolutely not." 

"But Al," Charlie whines, "I'm sure you're tired--- we all are--- so could you  _ please _ just do this tiny thing, please?"

It must be leftover sentiment from their previous conversation that makes him more agreeable, or maybe it's the fact he's two seconds away from collapsing. Regardless, he sighs and nods stiffly, opening up room 666 and shoving Vox in. 

"Have a good ni---" he slams the door shut with the flick of his wrist, and sound proofs his walls for extra security, just in case.

Vox, who had been strangely compliant for the most part, stands idle beside him as he finishes up the sound proofing. The dinner brawl must have taken most of his energy as well.

There's very minimal to distinguish Alastor's room from the others, aside from the deliberate black colour scheme he implemented himself. That, and the random deer decor that seems to manifest wherever he goes. Vox carefully assesses the room despite its blandness. 

"I expected more red," he says.

"Well, your expectations of me have been proven to be shotty at best." Alastor replies, lending him a dangerous glare from Vox. "Don't be sore with me, dear. It was your tantrum that brought us here."

"It takes two to tango, you're not so innocent." He pulls back the covers of the bed, and sits down, "I'm here 'cause you decided to eviscerate my room."

"And I eviscerated your room because you deserved it."

"Shut up for a fucking moment," he snaps. 

He itches to retort, but after the mess that was dinner he's not eager to escalate another argument. After changing into his silk pajamas with a snap, he lays down silently on the other side of the bed, tucking himself as far as he can from the other demon. It's still his bed. With the protection of his shadows and magic he'll get his rest, unwanted company or otherwise.

Vox shifts, rustling the sheets. There's a pause, then the demon lets out a soft chuckle, more of a hum than anything.

"What?" He sighs.

"We really took this charade too far, didn't we?" 

"Yes, I suppose so." Of course they took the charade too far. Two overlords, diametrically opposed, forced into a relatively cramped building and expected to remain civil. He'd be laughing silly if it wasn't himself in the situation.

"There's only so much pretending we can do before the cat 'n mouse routine gets old."

"I couldn't agree more with you."

"So maybe we should cut to the chase, hm? Get down to what we've been dancing around?"

Alastor snorts. He never imagined Vox would willingly cut his hotel stay short, but he wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. They will need to deal with Charlie's protests later, but he'll be free. He'll have his territory back. 

"How about now, then? Would be better if we get it over with tonight."

Silence.

"That’s,” Vox stammers, “I just--- wow. Even in this situation, you’re straight forward. Dunno why I expected otherwise.”

“When have I ever been anything else?”

“Hah! Y’got me there,  _ babe. _ ”

That should've been his first warning, the sultry tone Vox’s voice adopts. Perhaps he was doomed from the moment he let the TV overlord breach his room. Or maybe he should've discussed in further detail with his shadows what exactly counts as a threat against himself. 

Because right now, suddenly finding himself pinned underneath Vox, blankets thrown aside, chest to chest and face to face, he most certainly feels like prey. 

"Been waiting for this for too damn long," Vox whispers with a rasp, and somehow in the heat of the moment Alastor spares a second to ponder over the logistics of an artifical rasp. 

Vox’s deft fingers undoing the first two buttons of his pajama shirt snaps him out of his escape. There's a lump in his throat that blocks any sound he can make. Squirming is the most he's able to accomplish, and all it does is egg Vox on. A hand starts moving down south and suddenly it all becomes too much. 

Without thinking, he bashes the top of his head--- and effectively his antlers--- into Vox's screen. The larger demon nearly falls off the bed from the force. 

"What the fuck?" Vox growls, screen glitching out for a split second. "Way to kill the fucking mood, Rudolph!”

Any form of response Alastor could give dies before it reaches his throat, feeling all too choked up with a persisting itch. Not an itch he can scratch on the surface, no. It crawls under his skin, like static. The static that usually accompanies his body has never felt like this.

Static.

Static.

Static static static, it doesn’t feel good, he needs to get it out---

The static encapsulates his whole being, dulling everything else in the room. There’s nothing but static, static  _ static _ . 

“...stor.”

There’s something penetrating the static. 

“..lastor.”

The static ebbs away.

“Alastor!”

There is no static. He feels like he’s suffocating, but when he thinks to take a breath, he finds that he’s already doing so, in quick succession. Much more rapid than he needs to be. 

“Deep breaths, slow down.” Vox stands a little ways from the bed. His arms reach out to Alastor, half committed, like a lousy defense. In his panic, Alastor's natural frequency made itself known, the high pitch irritating his own ears. He tries to silence it while he works on his breathing. Bringing a hand up to his face he feels the upturn of the smile he managed to maintain, feeling relief.

After a few more uncomfortable minutes, Alastor no longer feels like he’s being constricted around the chest. His frequency has returned to normal too. Vox remains planted where he is. 

For once, the TV overlord has nothing to say. Alastor can’t find it in himself to offer commentary either. He doesn’t know what exactly to comment on. So many words in his repertoire, and he can’t think of any that could begin to describe the last hour.

“What exactly were you trying to do?” Alastor asks carefully.

The simple question looks to offend Vox. “What was I trying to do? What the fuck were  _ you _ trying to pull? One second you’re all eager, and the next second you start hyperventilating.”

“Eager for  _ what _ exactly?” His tone cuts sharp, “Get your mind out of the gutter for once. I thought we were discussing plans for your departure, not alluding to whatever form of debauchery you envisioned.” As his voice rises in frustration, Vox shrinks more into himself. The brightness of his screen leaves nothing to the imagination with his expression, going from anger, to annoyance, to confused guilt. 

“Furthermore,” he continues, “haven’t I made myself clear? Your advances repulse me, darling. To expect anything other than disgust is foolish, or maybe you don’t know me as well as you believe.”

“Give me some more sugar, why don’t you,” Vox huffs sarcastically, finally approaching the bed and sitting on the side. “This day’s been fucking peachy. The hotel was boring as shit to film, couldn’t talk to the princess without you snatching her up, couldn’t talk to  _ you _ at all, got my face shattered, and now you’re giving me mixed signals.  _ Again _ .” 

Alastor gawks at Vox’s turned back, fists curling dangerously around the blanket. How stupid can he be? 

“Well, just so that future misunderstandings can be avoided!” he says, “It is a no. It will always be a no, with you and with everyone. Forever and ever, for the rest of time.”

To this, Vox turns around unexpectedly, eyeing him up and down but not in the usual way where Alastor feels naked. The urge to squirm under his gaze is strong. There’s another urge inside of him to run, but he pushes the thought down and away quickly, dismissing it as leftover jitters. 

“When you say forever a no...”

“I mean it.”

“You’ve never felt the urge to…?”

“Never.”

“So you’ve never---”

“ _ Never. _ Do you need me to explain what never means?”

“No,” Vox’s body, previously tense, slumps like a puppet cut off its strings. “So all those times we fought, I was thinking---” he cuts himself off, “and you were thinking--- you weren’t actually---” he lights up suddenly, mouth opening and closing, and finally settling slack jawed. “Oh.” He brings a hand up to his face. “ _ Oh _ .”

“Oh indeed.” Alastor agrees.

There used to be a time where exchanging blows with Vox was exhilarating. The overlord would send him a quip, he’d send one right back, they’d destroy a city block or two, and rinse and repeat the following week. Somewhere along the way their venomous banter lost its satisfying sting, leaving only an empty tiredness with every interaction. 

Fighting with Vox has become  _ boring _ , he realizes. It’s become repetitive, predictable, mundane. There’s no thrill in a battle that lasts for an eternity. 

And yet, imagining an afterlife without Vox keeping him on his toes is damn near impossible.

Alastor slams that train of thought back into the vault. 

Vox shifts his weight on the mattress. “Alright, look.” Carefully, he lays down on his back on the bed, and gestures to his screen “See this? I’ve always slept like a log, but now my screen doesn’t let me toss or turn. I’m pretty much as still as a statue when I sleep, whether I like it or not.” Indeed, Alastor can see how the flat head makes rolling onto his side near impossible. “You won’t have to worry about me grabbing you or anything, so just sleep, okay?” 

There’s a gruff but gentle undertone in his voice. Alastor didn't know he was capable of exhibiting such courtesy. He stares for a second too long, and yet Vox waits quietly for consent. 

“Okay,” Alastor concedes, resting his head on the pillow. He tucks his hands underneath himself, blinking wearily as Vox’s screen darkens into a muted glow. “How did you repair yourself so fast?”

“Salvaged a spare replacement from the ruins of my room,” Vox explains, “it’s miraculous, considering everything else in there was wrecked.”

“Miraculous,” Alastor echoes, thinking about how he’ll scold his shadows in the morning. 

One and a half feet of space lays between them. The bed dips lower near Vox, creating a valley that would make it easy for Alastor to roll closer. He can feel each and every micro movement, from Vox's steady breaths (which he still can't figure the logistics of) to the occasional twitch of his arm. 

He wonders if Vox can feel his micro movements too.

“G’night,” Vox says.

Alastor hums in response. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alternatively known as "in which vox realizes he isn't in a 500k enemies to lovers slow burn lemon"
> 
> twitter is jojomlette if u wanna send hate mail


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